


¿Qué hora es?/What time is it?

by The_AU_Factory



Series: ¿Qué hora es?/What time is it? [1]
Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk, Supernatural
Genre: Blasphemy, Blood, Bruises, M/M, au as fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:26:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_AU_Factory/pseuds/The_AU_Factory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mischief. Mayhem. Sex. The Apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 3AM

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work, but is probably still the craziest, most ambitious thing I have ever written in my life, so please be gentle. Knowledge of both Fight Club and Supernatural is necessary to fully enjoy this, but it's nothing that a few minutes of splashing around in DuckDuckGo can't fix.
> 
> -Sue

Castiel doesn’t like to sleep.  
  
It’s too quiet and that frightens him.  
  
He's used to their songs and secrets and sorrow in his head. The silence makes him feel so alone.  
  
“I have been lessened,” he said calmly as he pulled at a loose thread on the sweat pants he’s wearing,  
  
Tyler is trying to sleep.  
  
 _Trying._  
  
He can’t because he knows that Castiel is looking at him with Bambi eyes.  
  
“I have been lessened.”  
  
Before either of them realize what’s happening, Tyler is standing and Castiel is on the floor with blood filling his mouth.  
   
“You are as He made you and He made you  _this_.”  
  
Tyler is stronger than Castiel and has always been, but he won’t drag him all the way down into this paper or plastic, two day sale, 50 percent off, peppermint mochachino with wheat grass and low fat [sweetener](http://super-seme04.livejournal.com/37629.html) world.  
  
“I have been lessened.”  
  
Tyler rolls his eyes when his words of wisdom are ignored then straddles Castiel and slowly licks the blood out of his mouth.  
  
“You will be a new creature. Birth is blood and pain, but I will teach you how to breathe and touch and taste.”  
  
The next day those same lips are burned into the back of Castiel’s hand.  
  
He doesn’t scream.  
  
He just watches intently as his skin bubbles and blisters.  
  
In that moment, Tyler falls in love with him a little.  
  
Castiel wants to learn pain and Tyler wants a devoted student.  
  
The next night Tyler takes him to Fight Club.  
  
“Hit me as hard as you can.”  
  
Castiel pounds Tyler’s head into the floor until there’s a small crater left behind and loses two teeth, but gains a black eye and a dislocated shoulder.  
  
When they return to the house they fuck in the kitchen, the living room, the shower, and the bedroom.   
  
After that, Castiel falls asleep, warm, soft, and in a strange kind of peace, on Tyler’s chest. He tucks his head under Tyler’s chin and mumbles nonsense about salvation and redemption against a bruise the color of dying violets.   
  
As Tyler lazily runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, he contemplates the nature of the universe and its infinite surprises.   
  
Castiel fucks like he fights, focused and restrained, until one of his screws are knocked loose.  
  
That’s when the real fun begins, boys and girls.  
  
It’s like trying to hold onto an angry, stray cat as he snarls and writhes and claws at skin until blood rises in thin, long, straight lines.  
  
He’s alarmed by his own viciousness but Tyler will teach him to accept it.  
  
To like it.  
  
Right now, however, it’s three in the morning and the world is ending one second at a time.


	2. Snack Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good things always happen when there's a (fallen) angel in the kitchen.

Castiel makes teeny tiny ham and cheese sandwiches cut into perfect right triangles for the space monkeys.  
  
There’s plates of chocolate chip cookies scattered around the house and there’s always a cold soda or beer within reach.  
  
“I am  _not_  turning into Martha Stewart,” Castiel says with an insulted expression. “I choose to feed your pets, so let me.”  
  
Tyler clearly lost control of this conversation so he licks a smear of chocolate off of Castiel’s cheek. The not quite an angel anymore makes a noise that could be amusement or annoyance as he smiles.  
  
If anyone had a problem with them, they held their peace.  
  
The space monkeys either look away discreetly or howl like a pack of frat boys.  
  
They like Castiel because he makes them cookies. Angel Face is the only person that was twitchy around Castiel and that problem was fixed last night.  
  
What happened couldn’t be called a fight.

After Castiel tied back his hair (Tyler convinced him to keep it long after showing him how much he enjoyed it), he bounced on his toes for a couple of seconds and swayed slightly as if drunk then crashed against Angel Face like a wave.  
  
Castiel slowly, systematically broke him, inch by inch, then stood bloody and victorious.  
  
He looked like a blood stained god that demanded obedience.  
  
The fact that Castiel didn’t even have a scratch on him made Tyler want to mark him up like an abandoned cathedral. He wanted to paint filth and blasphemy across Castiel’s skin and stain places that the eyes couldn’t see.  
  
“Stop looking at me like that.”  
  
Tyler pushes off of the counter like a swimmer trying to gain distance then backs Castiel up against the fridge. “Stop moving like that,” he says into the other’s mouth.  
  
Castiel tastes like grape soda and chocolate chip cookies and his lips are cotton candy pink.  
  
He sighs in what could be surrender or satisfaction then melts into Tyler. “The cookies are going to burn.”  
  
“The cookies  _are_  going to burn,” Tyler repeats in agreement as he clears a place for Castiel to sit on the counter.  
  
He tangles his fingers in Castiel’s hair then bites his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. “Little Debbie was a whore.”  
  
His listener snorts in disbelief then groans as Tyler rubs his cock through his jeans.  
  
“Husbands went to fuck her and their wives bought her cakes and cookies and artery clogging sweets.”  
  
Castiel’s hands are twisting in Tyler’s shirt as he opens his zipper.  
  
“She always made sure that she never sold a cake to the woman whose husband would be fucking her that day.”  
  
Castiel muffles his cries against Tyler’s shoulder so the space monkeys won’t hear.  
  
“The neighborhood children grew fat and happy as Little Debbie grew rich and old.”  
  
Castiel shudders and shakes and hisses curses as Tyler continues his history lesson.  
  
“She told wives that the secret of making a man happy could be found in a soft, sweet cake.”  
  
 _“Fuck.”_  
  
“Are you  _listening_?”

Tyler squeezes with each word and Castiel chokes like a man drowning. “No matter what a cake looks like, people will still make fuck me faces if it's soft and sweet. The secret,” Tyler whispers into Castiel’s ear, “is that no one gives a shit about presentation.”  
  
Tyler’s fingers are covered in cookie crumbs and come when he pushes them in Castiel’s mouth.  
  
Castiel sucks and licks them clean then hops off the counter to save his cookies from burning when the oven starts screaming.  
  
Tyler washes his hands with soap and hot water and Castiel patiently waits for him to finish. “They didn’t burn."  
  
 He proudly presents Tyler a baker’s dozen of macadamia nut cookies with dark and white chocolate chips.  
  
The space monkeys swarm into the kitchen and Castiel threatens to poison them if any crumbs mysteriously fall into the couch or on the carpet.   
  
They chorus that he has no reason to worry and Tyler watches as grown men are reduced to a group of  laughing, playful school boys because of cookies and the man that made them.


End file.
